


Water Under Bridges

by CatS81



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, F/M, Infidelity, Introspection, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Reflection, looking back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5869138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatS81/pseuds/CatS81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carolyn looks back twenty five years and wonders what might have been....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water Under Bridges

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write this for a while - it's a personal catharsis of sorts as well as marking a big change of style (trying out something different!). 
> 
> Lots of warnings apply here, chaps, so please take note - it deals with miscarriage and infidelity, so if any of those things are likely to be triggering for you, please take care. It's Carolyn/Douglas, but only in the sense of implying a past.
> 
> My thanks, as always, to Linguini for the beta, and for generally being so encouraging :)

The day is half over before she realises. They’re huddled in the portacabin, rain thrumming against the tin roof, and she’s frowning at the wall-chart as they discuss the upcoming schedule when it occurs to her. She’s briefly ashamed for having had forgotten but it’s dismissed when sadness overrides, her heart contracting. The words of her pilots and her son fade away, and she’s lost in reminiscence, memories washing across her soul. 

Twenty five years….could that possibly be right? She counts back, using Arthur’s age as a guide, and there’s no denying the timescales, unbelievable as they are. Twenty five years since she stood in her bathroom and willed herself not to cry, berated herself for even wanting to. Twenty five years since she gritted her teeth through the pain, pasted on a smile for her child and stepped back into her life.

She remembers the preceding weeks with brutal clarity. Standing in front of the mirror and scrutinising the curve of her belly, watching the infinitesimal growth. She had denied it to herself at first - ignored the nausea, the fatigue, the tenderness – but after several weeks she was in no doubt and the reality had caused an initial crippling panic.

She had been able to hold the impossible decision at bay, busying herself with Arthur and her work, but examining her reflection, twelve, thirteen weeks down the line, and she knew she was hurtling towards an impasse. Fight or flight. Stick or twist. She had known the answer, the most practical course of action, yet had never managed to convince her heart, preferring to postpone and procrastinate until time had evaporated.

She’d never seen it coming. Had never anticipated the spark of attraction for someone else, and certainly never that it might be reciprocated. Granted, she had been miserable in her marriage – Gordon could be vicious, and when on occasion he turned that towards their son she had bared her teeth, drawing the battle-lines. Even so, guilt had flared in her stomach the first time she had willingly found herself pressed against a hotel door, the weight of another man unfamiliar and intoxicating as his hands learned the curves of her body.

It had all been over within four months – he had met someone else, and she had been unwilling to give Gordon any ammunition in the impending split. Nevertheless when they parted she had felt her heart splinter, the discovery of her pregnancy both an abrasive and a balm to the wound in equal measure.

Having another child had never been on the agenda. Motherhood had come to her relatively late and she had taken a long time to adjust. Not that she didn’t love Arthur - Christ, she loved the bones of him to the point where she physically ached – but his fourth birthday had triggered a tiny sense of relief. That she was finally starting to feel like herself again, beyond the night feeds and the relentlessness and the nagging suspicion that she really wasn’t up to the task.

That she might have another baby terrified her. That there was a very good chance it wasn’t her husband’s, likewise. And yet…as she had allowed the days and then the weeks to tick by, she had begun to grow accustomed, the fear mellowing to a dull ache beneath her ribs. Her hands had instinctively begun to trace her expanding abdomen, her changing shape so much more pronounced than the first time round. She had kept expecting Gordon to notice, to force her into an admission, and as a consequence into action, but he was oblivious. 

She had considered telling him. Glossing over the timescales and presenting him with a second child. She had even allowed herself the fantasy of a different life: taking Arthur and raising him with his sibling, either alone or with the man she had tried not to love. 

In the end, nature had stripped her of the decision. An unremarkable afternoon twenty five years ago and the cramps had her doubled over in the bathroom, the relentless blood stark as it soaked her clothing. It had seemed endless, the pain lancing across her heart as agonising as the spasms wracking her uterus, and the pressure in her throat was immense. Arthur was calling her through the door and she had drawn a slow breath, doing her best to reassure even as the need for help grew. She had cleaned up as best she could and hurried to drop him with her mother, driving in a numb haze to the hospital alone.

It was for the best – she had forced the mantra through her mind in the following weeks and months. It would’ve been horrendously complicated, almost impossible to navigate…but there was still a stubborn part of her that mourned the loss of the tiny person she would never know. She had guarded the secret against her heart, pushing the grief away each time it swelled, and thrown herself back into her life. Her mother had asked a couple of pointed questions, shrewd eyes narrowed as she scrutinised, but eventually she had tired of Carolyn’s brusque responses, and the world had begun to right itself once more.

Presently she blinks from the introspective fog, aware that the others have risen and are moving towards the door. His hand ghosts across her back as she follows suit, the faintest of touches but it’s enough and she stops, anticipation making her sigh.

“You all right?” Douglas asks, deep baritone soft, and she turns her head to acknowledge him, noting the concern written into his brow.

She’s never told him. Never in all the years of their association. They’ve never discussed their past and she’s never wanted to rake it up. The guilt is perpetual, dull at its edges, though she feels it flicker as she looks at him. He is oblivious to the significance of the date and to the source of her distraction, and she can’t decide if the facts make her grateful or sad.

“Perfectly fine,” she snaps, and she knows it’s too curt when he raises an unconvinced eyebrow. 

“If you say so.”

“I do. Now go and do me that load-sheet before I’m forced to hand you your P45.”

He holds her gaze for a long moment, and she knows he’s not fooled by her deflection, even as he raises placating palms. She watches as he steps through the door, and releases a shuddering breath into the resulting quiet. Too many years have gone by, and she’s suddenly struck by the magnitude of loss, by the torture of what might have been. A quarter of a century has passed and she knows she should have been braver, should have allowed him the chance to process rather than keeping him at bay. She inhales, almost calling his name but managing to stop herself, the familiar syllables faltering on her lips. She has no intention of causing him pain – she feels too much for him despite her better judgement – and she’s aware that any revelation now could do just that, even after the passage of so much time. 

With a final caress of her abdomen she swallows the regret, the lingering anguish, and steps again into her life - the water under the bridge almost deafening as it rushes unceasingly by.

FIN


End file.
